


thread by thread (i come apart)

by softhearted



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Quick and Dirty, Smut, mostly angst though, not really episode related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 16:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12915519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softhearted/pseuds/softhearted
Summary: Betty rests her head on Jug’s chest, exhales shakily, pulls the covers up to her exposed shoulder and says: ‘If I kill myself, do you think it’ll make him stop?’





	thread by thread (i come apart)

**Author's Note:**

> stitch by stitch i tear apart  
> if brokenness is a form of art  
> i must be a poster child prodigy  
> thread by thread i come apart  
> if brokenness is a work of art  
> surely this must be my masterpiece  
> (sleeping at last - neptune)
> 
> unbeta'ed. i feel like there's an unfinished sentence somewhere but i can't find it.  
> also, jug likes sex in my version of the truth.

The trailer smells like sex and Jughead’s shampoo. Their bodies are slick and sweaty, Betty’s hair matted to her head in a way she would’ve once found embarrassing and unattractive, but she hasn’t cared about that in ages. These days, the ponytail is gone the minute they’re alone together, Jug’s fingers getting tangled up in her blonde hair before the door’s even closed. She doesn’t know why she used to care about that so much; being the Betty she wants the world to see even when she was alone with him. Now, that’s different. Now, she rubs her cold feet against his hot calves and kisses him with morning breath and takes her panties off when she actually needed to shave but didn’t care. Now, she’s sure Jughead Jones will love her anyway.

So, it’s no longer a thrill, being here with him, alone in his trailer, but it has turned into something better; something that feels like home. It has settled into her bones like a long-lost memory, this place, and she doesn’t remember not wanting to be here. She doesn’t remember a life before Jughead Jones kissed her like she was the universe itself. Which makes it so hard to say this, but she needs to anyway. So, Betty rests her head on Jug’s chest, exhales shakily, pulls the covers up to her exposed shoulder and says: ‘If I kill myself, do you think it’ll make him stop?’

Headlines flash through Jug’s head. _Another Tragedy Strikes Riverdale. Another Day, Another Death. Betty Cooper’s Last Article._ Would there be a memorial? Who would find her? Fear courses through him, the idea of losing Betty nearly paralysing him in its wake. There is nothing that could save him after that, nothing to keep him grounded, to not lose himself completely in the Serpents. He’s not a snake yet, but he could be, if Betty left him, if he had no chance to escape from that life. ‘No,’ is all he can say; the only word that he manages to get past his lips, nearly lost in a whisper. He thinks about Betty Cooper in a wedding dress, a domestic fantasy he would never admit to on paper, but one he has thought of many times. The fantasy that got him through the Serpent’s Trials.

‘I’m not saying I’ll do it right now,’ Betty continues, interrupting his train of thought like she didn’t even hear him, like his entire world falling apart was a quiet affair she had taken no notice of. She seems different, in a way, or maybe she just seems like the Betty she is when she’s not with Jughead; the calculating one, ponytail Betty. ‘It’s just, if he doesn’t have me to puppet master, maybe he’ll stop; maybe it’ll be better for Riverdale.’

Anger rises in Jug’s throat, a heat that comes from deep inside him and found its way up, a redness that ruins everything, that tears his fantasy of Betty in a pristine white dress apart and turns it into a funeral, a place to lose yourself in, a place to die. He doesn’t know if it’s aimed at her, or at the Black Hood, or at himself. God, maybe it’s aimed at Alice Cooper, for all he knows. Does it even matter when Betty thinks her only way out is death? ‘Fuck Riverdale, Betty,’ he spits, the words hot in his mouth. ‘I mean, I mean—How could that be worth it if it meant you died?’ He doesn’t know how to convince her, doesn’t know how to turn all this anger into a softness that makes her stay, that makes her think about herself instead of Riverdale, like she’s some kind of saviour.

‘What life is this, anyway?’ Betty sighs, rolling over and placing her entire body on top of his. Their hips align and she leans her chin on his chest, looking up at him through her eyelashes. His face is all hills and valleys, straight lines and shadows. One single beam of sunlight cuts his face in half. ‘One in which I have to do what he says? I had to break up with you, Jug. I had to do all those—all those _horrible_ things, just to make sure he didn’t kill anyone else. How is that living?’

‘We will figure it out, Betts, I swear,’ Jughead whispers, placing his hands on the small of her back. He fingers her spine, counts every bump. He wants to feel her again, make sure she’s alive, kiss all the parts of her body, feel the skin and hear her heart beat, just to make sure. If she leaves, what will be left? A burnt out shell of what used to be his town; his life; his family; his heart. There is nothing to be proud of once Betty is gone, and they both know that. Or, at least, he does, and he hopes she does too. ‘We will catch him,’ he murmurs, looking at the ceiling in an attempt to find a reason that will make her want to stay with him. ‘I promise, I promise.’

When his voice breaks, Betty feels like her chest is cracked open and all her sorrow shines out from the bone-splinters. She closes her eyes and pecks Jughead just once, just because, just so she knows he is real and he loves her and he is _here_ , after everything, after Toni Topaz, after he got bitten by a snake and she had to break up with him or else he would die.

She opens her eyes and he is looking right at her, like she is everything he could’ve ever hoped for, like he is trying to convince himself that she is real. She kisses him right then and there, partly because she wants to, partly to escape his piercing gaze. It’s raw and wet and deep and she can still taste the eggs they had for breakfast, but she doesn’t pay attention to that, not when Jug has his hands gripping at the locks behind her neck and he’s trying to feel her entire body melt into his.

He pulls back, chest heaving, breathing heavily. ‘I’m not—We can’t do this, not if you’re— _God,_ not if you’re thinking about killing yourself.’ Being with Betty is intense, electrifying, and when he closes his eyes he can feel the universe fall apart and come back together again, he witnesses the death and the rebirth, the finish and the start; nothing is in the right order anymore, nothing fits, nothing happens like it’s supposed to happen and still he is here, still _she_ is here, and they’re together, and it’s the only thing that matters.

‘Jug,’ she says, and she’s everything and nothing at the same time. Sometimes, Jughead feels like it’s Beauty and the Beast between them and it’s obvious that he’s not the beautiful one; it’s obvious he’s the one that needs to be loved in order to be saved. _Think about a world without me in it_ , he wants to say, _think about a world without me in it, and then turn it around_. But he doesn’t tell her; he doesn’t say it out loud, because maybe Betty Cooper can think about a world without him in it, and that would hurt more than he could face right now. Maybe Betty Cooper can think about a world without him in it, and let herself be loved by someone else, and let herself move on.

‘Jug,’ she says again, ‘I love you.’

Once upon a time, Jughead Jones fantasised about Betty Cooper in a wedding dress. He dreams about a wedding that was set up quickly, one in which they had to do everything quicker than planned, because if they waited too long, she wouldn’t fit in the white gown. He dreams about a pregnant Betty Cooper, carrying a baby that would look just like her and nothing like him, a child that had all the good parts in his life, and all the good parts were Betty Cooper. He opens his eyes. ‘I know,’ he tells her. ‘I know, but is it enough?’


End file.
